Captain's Log #47 - Catering to the Clientele

Fall 2001

_________ Vineyards would make an excellent brothel – a very expensive one. The location is spectacular in the lower, eastern hills of Napa Valley. On a hill itself, it has a view of other oak-covered, breast-like hills.

The style is reminiscent of a Tuscan villa with tan, stucco walls, large terra cotta floor tiles, large earthen pots with fountains of dried flowers, wrought iron lighting fixtures and most wonderfully – large, original art on the walls. For me the most memorable piece, because I had to walk by it 50 times that night, was a large, multimedia representation of Mickey Mouse by Andy Warhol.  While not my favorite subject I came to appreciate each stroke of the artist’s hand, and to admire his subtle use of fun colors. It’s so rare to see original art in places other than museums and galleries, but then I don’t get out to many brothels. The other art was more tasteful to the quiet winery setting.

The structure is oriented north-south, parallel with the valley. There’s a large, inviting bar downstairs with a huge, natural-stone fireplace on one of the narrow walls with deep, leather-upholstered wing chairs in front. The ceiling are 16 feet high. The west-facing wall has floor-to-ceiling windows opening out to a large patio set with cafe tables, chairs and fragrant shrubs.

Upstairs there is a small, and tastefully appointed, professional kitchen with a large Wolf stove, a couple of double-door stainless steel refrigerators, fine maple cabinets and rose-colored-granite counter tops. It even has a small scullery with an industrial dishwasher.

Our crew of caterers arrived just before sunset one cold, fall evening when the moist valley air was a shimmery veil of blue-gray light that turned rosy and golden with the setting sun. My face, like a sunflower, turned toward the changing liquid light as I shook open the tablecloths and set out the wine glasses.

I saw the first guests downstairs in the bar with a tray of hors d'oeuvres in hand. These people looked different from the usual wine county tourists: younger, definitely hip, with money, stylish, Sharper Image. The women were in their late twenties, many with long hair. Their slim figures were revealed in skin-tight pants, their pedicured toes in sexy sandals. There was a fair quantity of tasteful jewelry. The men were not as stylish, a little older, a mixed bag of types, they looked like software engineers and it turns out some of them were. The dinner was for a ______ University Alumnus singles club.

The party organizer, Le Monsieur?, wore a tweed jacket and slacks. He seemed to be the oldest in the group of about 60, he was in his early 40s. He came around to each of the staff and slipped us a $20 bill, “We believe in treating the staff well,” and then proceeded to work us like slaves: the tables were too far apart, the music too loud, the white wine too cold, the lights too bright, the fillet overcooked. I got to see a lot of Mickey that night.

There was a Rhone River of wine flowing that night, and why not? They had a tour bus to take them home, and they were thirsty. At first they were enthusiastic towards each other but still a little distant. They enjoyed the hors d’oeuvres and the wines at the bar. Later they enjoyed the salad and white wine with the salad, and then the entrée and the red wine with the entrée. They were in no hurry, they were young and the night belonged to them. Then they enjoyed the port with the chocolate desert. Finally - when the plates were taken away, the lights dimmed, the music turned up -  things changed. People paired off and danced in very suggestive ways. Le Monsieur smiled and nodded knowingly. That’s when it would have been useful to have some discreet rooms upstairs, how uncomfortable it must have been for them in the bus.

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This story, and the previous one about the wedding, were written 18 years ago when I was working for a caterer during the 2001 recession. I was lucky to get that job; went to a lot of expensive parties. I wrote them to my mother, and recently discovered them in a suitcase passed along to me by my sister. Mom died in 2008 but she’s still in my heart.